


Food For Thought

by MarvelsMenace



Series: The Seven Sins of Matthew Murdock [3]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Established Relationship, M/M, canon divergence - post daredevil season 3, domestic cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 19:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16455617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelsMenace/pseuds/MarvelsMenace
Summary: A few snipets of Matt and Foggy and their relationship with food.  Plus a bonus chapter with Matt's mother.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter came out more food focused than in a pure exploration of Gluttony. There were also a few different things I wanted to touch on so I divided it into sections more or less.

Matt has had a touch and go relationship with food.  Even before his senses where enhanced and he was blinded, the boy knew money was tight, knew his dad had to work hard to put food on the table.  But he remembers thinking his dad was bigger than him, that he needed more food than he did, not less like he ate almost every night.  So, Matt rarely cleaned his plate, always listened, and pushed to make sure his dad ate what he didn’t.  The pangs in his gut were unpleasant, but his daddy needed to be strong and healthy too.

With Jack Murdock’s meager income, Matt ate meals for free at school.  Free fruit and milk for breakfast, and an irregular rotation of passable food for lunch.  The later he didn’t mind, could live with until he returned to school after the accident, after his senses skyrocketed, the taste of the hot meals from the school cafeteria made him gag, nausea roiling in his stomach as soon as they began cooking in the morning.  Most days he was able to choke down a peanut butter and Jelly sandwich, a somewhat safe choice unless the bread came from an older bag, the sweet smell of growing mold light on the surface. 

After the death of his father, when he was living at the orphanage, it was like he was growing up again.  He would take half portions, sharing half of his lunch or dinner with other kids if the sister insisted he take a full helping instead of half.  When questioned, punished, scolded, he always responded the same.  He just wasn’t hungry.  He could hear the whispers of money, funding, costs to run this place.  The less food he ate the more went to other kids. 

Stick made him eat more, bland meat and plain rice during training breaks, but wass belly is full, and he knew better than to argue.  There's no pressure of someone else going hungry in their sessions, only the threat of the next beating if he doesn’t guard himself correctly, something he is acclimating to as much as he can.  He still cries silently for his father some nights, tucked into a ball of grief instead of trying to remove himself from the sensations of the city.  Stick is caring for him though, and Matt thinks that maybe it will be okay.  it won’t be his daddy, but it's better than the small ball of pain he had been wrapped in since his world had fallen in.

This was all fine and good until he moved in with Foggy in law school and he insisted on showing Matt around campus, accompanying him to meals in the student dining hall if they were both free. ‘ _Don’t want you to get lost man._ ’  It took a week before he was officially called out beyond small searching questions on why he didn’t each much.  In all honesty Matt was just sort of used to the small hunger pangs that sometimes made his stomach feel like it was gluing itself to his spine.  He lived this long, why take food from someone else?

“Dude.  You need more calories than that.  Your scholarship has a dining plan, make the most of it!  Go for that freshman fifteen, better yet, twenty.  You’re skin and bones with more muscle than you should have for some weird reason.”

A flush flared with heat on his skin, and he pushed the shapes of food around his plate.  He’d eaten worse.

“I’m fine Foggy, really.”

“Bullshit Murdock.  I gave it a week, and I’m not supporting you starving yourself anymore.  Eat.”

Matt thinks he may have jabbed a fork in his direction.

“I’ll start watching you like my mom watches my nieces to make sure they don’t sneak food off the plate if I have to.  No dessert unless you eat your dinner, it’s a wonder you don’t have scurvy.”

He wants to squirm under the attention, perfectly happy staying under the radar.  But Foggy is still facing him, and the back of his neck prickles in a way that Matt knows is from eyes on him.  So, he takes a bite of chicken, of potatoes, of stir fried vegetables, chewing while trying to stare back until Foggy makes an annoyed noise at him and returns to his own food. 

It works out well that Foggy forces him to eat.  After a week of being mothered he’s less tired after sleeping better, and fills out his once baggy clothes, the slide of loose material over his skin not entirely missed.

By the time the long weekend for thanksgiving rolls around, it's already been established that Matt will be going to the Nelson shop with him.  No ifs and or butts allowed.  Matt doesn’t want to intrude, and says as much, but Foggy’s told his parents too much about him so there’s no getting out of it.  Part of him is terrified because he hasn’t had a family in so damn long.  even when he did, it was a small thing, broken and frail.  The holidays were anything but extravagant with his dad, but it was a time for families, and when that was all they had, it made it even more impacting.  Part of him is terrified he’ll lose those memories with the loud and body filled gathering he's walking into.

Foggy seems to pick up on this as the week of begins, finally sitting down with Matt and telling him that if he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t have to come, that he shouldn’t have pushed so hard.  His mom will worry and yell at him, but it’ll be okay, nobody will blame Matt.

Foggy seems to pick up on this as the week of begins, finally sitting down with matt and telling him that if he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t have to come.  his mom will worry and yell at him, but it’ll be okay, nobody will blame matt.

But matt can hear the disappointment in him, so he packs a bag like Foggy, waving him off when he says that he'll pay for a cab if Matt decides to go back to campus early.

Foggy's family is...  Loud.

Loud and alive with happy and thundering hearts packed into the backroom of what Foggy told him was a butcher shop.

He eats a hearty helping on thanksgiving, clearing his plate once before Mrs. Nelson is making her rounds and depositing more food on his plate while brandishing what must be a fairly threatening wooden spoon.  He surrenders with his palms up, and Foggy squeezes his arm with a muffled apology that Matt shakes his head at.  They eat dessert after warding off third helpings and he's saved from the group of perfumed nelson ladies by Foggy steering him out into the back alley with a beer in each hand.  Despite the noise of the city, it is quiet out, and a warmth seeps in to his back from the brick exterior of the sun, stored from a beautiful cloudless day according to foggy.

When he gets back to the campus gym the following Sunday, he's gained a few pounds, but he feels lighter than he ever had before.


	2. Chapter 2

They had started going to the farmers market after getting a steady stream of clients in through the doors of the practice, before their relationship happened and Foggy moved in.  It was an adult type goal to go every Saturday morning, aside from those where they were hungover, or a case was just too important to break from.  The first few times they mainly stuck to the small one in Hell’s kitchen, but they’ve been slowly branching out to others when they have the time and the weather is nice. 

Matt likes the market’s offerings more than super market selections, finding the flavor and lasting time better, and the appreciation the small business owners have.  Foggy’s already charmed his way in with a few of the stall owners, usually talking his way into getting a piece of whatever they are looking at to try before they make their selections.  He’s pretty sure he’s just using Matt on his arm for cute votes too.

These mornings usually lead them to a restaurant for brunch on the way back, a new one is attempted each time they go out if it’s possible on their route back home.  Their palettes have evolved since college, though it’s much easier to try new things when you have a regular paycheck moving through.  They try to pick places that are good for the both of them selection wise, sushi for Foggy and Noodles for Matt, ‘ _C’mon man this is amazing.’  ‘I’m sorry I don’t like dried seaweed, smelling it is more than enough, call me crazy.’  ‘Crazy.’_  Moussaka for both with olives and feta on the side.  Strong curry and rich spices that make Foggy’s nose run and Matt reach for the safe choice of naan bread and butter chicken.  They aren’t really picky anymore.

If they aren’t ready to fall into a food coma by the end of it, Foggy will drag him into a bakery as the walk, picking out biscotti for his Sunday coffee while Matt orders espresso to stave off the looming food coma.  Foggy usually gets a cannoli or two to share after dinner. 

They go to their own spaces when they return home if there isn’t anything going on, laundry and general tidying, showers and suit planning for the easing of Monday morning hell.  Some Saturdays Foggy will take off for a few hours to go help at the butcher shop. Matt misses the other heart beat he’s grown accustomed to in the apartment, but after living alone for so long, sometimes he appreciates the moment to just let go and not take anything in for a little bit.  He eventually heads out for evening mass, preferring the evening service of Saturdays instead of rising early on Sunday mornings. 

Dinner on Saturdays is normally something from the Deli, sometimes sandwiches with soup Matt tosses together, other times it’s pork or chicken they toss in the oven to bake while they share a beer.  It’s an easy plan for when neither knows if the other has beaten them home or not.  They eat at the table like adults, and settle onto the couch after dishes, books in hand for a few hours of a quiet sort of company until something buzzes in Matt that tells him it’s time to go out for his patrol.  Foggy makes him eat again, or at least take a protein bar or something with him.  ‘ _Yeah, I know they taste like dirt.  Deal with it, I don’t need to worry about you passing out from too much adrenaline and not enough calories.’_


	3. Chapter 3

Matt is the type of person that will lay in bed until forcibly removed.  So, when he wakes up to Foggy still asleep beside him with soft snores, he slips out of bed to try his hand at making breakfast unassisted.  They’ve done it before more than a few times, but that was together.  Now Matt is looking for things that Foggy normally pulls out.  Which is why he’s standing in the pantry, cursing foggy and the air tight storage containers he moved in with.  They had been getting around to making braille labels, but it hadn’t happened with the chaos that day to day life normally throws them. 

All he wanted to do was make pancakes and nearly everything he needs is hiding within the same damn rectangular prison.  He shakes them all before placing them on the counter to further investigate.  The sugar is a medium weight that sounds and moves like sand.  Brown sugar is similar, but the container is smaller, and it moves like clumped wet sand.  They just bought flour recently, so he finds the one that feels most like five pounds and shakes it, making a pleased noise in triumph where it moves in one big sort slide in the container.

He’s long since memorized the recipe, and fishes out the measuring cups, double checking the handles to confirm the right numbers are present.  Measuring, mixing, and other preparations are pretty easy from that point on, assisted by a second hand to check things are level and the bowls are where they should be.  Foggy stirs as the first pancake is cooking among melted butter, a slight elevation of his heart, and Matt smiles when he hears him inhale the smell of breakfast from his nest of blankets.

Foggy looks to his right when he finally feels awake enough to move, blinking at the usually occupied space devoid of Matt.  His stomach makes a silent vibration of demands for food and he sniffs as he looks at the ceiling, brows furrowing at the sweet smell of baking things.  He finds his discarded boxers from the floor and figures that they offer enough cover for his happiness.

Sure enough, Matt is making pancakes on the other side of the island when he’s exiting the bedroom, dust mote speckled sunlight streaming almost violently in the main area of the apartment. He watches Matt for a moment after rubbing his eyes, moving to the island and grasping the light-colored coffee he knows is his.  His voice is a bit rough, though soothed from sleep by the hot drink.

“I feel like this is the beginning of a long joke.  _A blind man is making pancakes…_ ”

Matt grins, but not before tossing a blueberry over the counter at him, Foggy’s catch missing it so it lands in his coffee cup with a soft _plop!_ Blue eyes narrow in a thought on war, but the pancake cooking is being transferred to the top of a small waiting stack, a healthy pat of butter dropped on top to melt. 

“Hungry?”

His voice is rough when he speaks, ladling out the last of the batter for one more cake.  Between sleep and a lack of speaking, he sounds more like daredevil than Matt Murdock this morning.  Foggy makes a confirming noise as he sips his coffee again, and he can hear his swallow, then a second one as he does away with the stray blueberry. 

“This should be enough, hopefully.  Though I can make eggs or-“

“It looks great Matty.  Why don’t you make sure that one doesn’t burn, and I’ll make plates?”

 “Sounds perfect.”

Matt doesn’t.  They end up with three large disks of basically fried cake a piece, the last one lost when they got a bit too distracted with good morning kisses.  Though Foggy wasn’t in charge of it, so he likes to think it was Matt who got too distracted if he couldn’t even save it.

They take their usual spots at the table with breakfast, armed with extra butter, whipped cream and berries.  Coffee is topped off and they settle in while they eat, Foggy flipping through the newspaper and reading anything of interest to Matt.

“Hey, daredevil rescued some kids last night and got them to a rescue team.  Criminals were found an hour later tied up in the middle of the street.  Nice job.”

The sincerity of it makes him hunch his shoulders a bit, still unused to Foggy being tolerant of his activities in the city after dark.

“They were good kids, really brave.  Three of them were taken a few hours earlier.  One of them told me I was better than Iron Man.” 

Matt smiles after taking another bite, and Foggy shakes his head, a wispy sort of noise accompanying the motion with the movement of his hair.

“I’ll get that on a trophy _.  Thought better than iron man by some kid_.”  

Foggy deserves the piece of fruit Matt throws at him.


	4. Chapter 4

Like clockwork they are always back side by side in the kitchen on Sunday for dinner no matter the happenings of the day, chopping, slicing, and cooking their findings from the day before into a new recipe hunted down by Foggy. 

The first couple times he loomed over Matt as he diced peppers, disbelieving that he wouldn’t chop off a finger despite the stunts he had seen him pull during his late-night activities.  His worry is replaced by glee when Matt has to all but leave the apartment when Foggy begins dicing the onions for his half of the meal.  After a quick reprieve and the drying of eyes, they are side by side in the kitchen again, Foggy taking care of sautéed veggies while Matt takes care of the meat, using his nose and the feel of it under the press of his finger to tell when it’s near perfect for their preference of medium rare. 

They go to bed early on Sundays, talking quiet, learning more of each other and exploring known places while tasting soft skin. 


	5. Chapter 5

“If you keep tasting the batter, there won’t be anything left to bake.”

“It needs something, but I can’t tell what’s missing…”

It always amused Foggy to watch Matt cook the more complex recipes, using his nose and his sense of tastes to find out when things were just as they should be amidst the variety of ingredients.  Foggy guided his hands to the small jars of spices lined up on the counter, capping those that weren’t right until they were down to the last two and Matt decided that Nutmeg should do the trick. 

After another whisking to incorporate the earth colored spice, he seemed pleased enough and allowed Foggy to fill the tins for baking while he collected a shirt that wasn’t covered in flower and other baking paraphernalia.  By the time he had returned, fingers busy with the buttons at the throat of a fine knit sweater, the small rectangular vessels were filled and in the oven for their contents to bake.

After fixing an uneven button on Matt’s front, and subsequently getting distracted for a moment when he realized it was only a ruse to lure him in for a kiss, Foggy left to change his own flour spattered clothes and collect a pair of socks.  Matt lounged against him as the soft _tick tick tick_ of the timer floated through the apartment, toying with blond hair as Foggy flipped through a magazine he had picked up the other day with an interesting recipe Matt had seemed interested to try. 

He was up and moving before the timer got to its five-minute count down, hands slapping around on the counter top until he found the right lump within his radar that was an oven mitt.  The little loaves looked perfectly golden but maybe a tad underdone, though Matt told him that some baked goods have a resting time like meat, and that they should be fine by the time they cooled enough to take them from their pans. 

Sure enough, the little loaves about the size of Foggy’s hand, came from their tiny pans perfectly colored on all sides, still warm in the middle as he helped Matt tuck them into place among a nice swatch of cloth his mother had given them with the basket when she had heard Foggy talking about their plan at the shop the day before.  His mother usually knew best, the only downside was that she was also usually aware of that.

They slipped on coats and scarves and gloves before heading out, happy enough to walk together, Matt comfortable enough to leave his cane at home.  They held hands for most of the trek, warmth pooling between them in their grip as they joked and smiled, as Foggy told him about anything interesting happening on the streets that early.  Matt could hear the organ from a few blocks away, and hummed a bit with it until Foggy asked him a question that actually required thinking to answer.

“What’s she like?”

He bit his bottom lip, thinking of the weeks he had spent below the church.

“Well, I think she was perfect for my father, and I’m pretty sure she wore the pants in the relationship so to speak.”

Foggy’s head tilts as he considers this with a chuckle.

“Ah, so she’s where all your chaotic energy is from?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised, though she seemed to be a pretty big fan of boxing, so who knows if I got anything but my ability to take a hit and get back up from my dad.”

It’s a jest, but he says a silent prayer for his father in heaven and squeezes back when Foggy tightens his grip on his hand in silent support.

 

* * *

 

Matt hadn’t see his mot-Maggie at mass the night before, but he had sensed her somewhere in the vicinity.  Heard the soft level of her voice within the walls of the church as mass carried on, the whispers of farewells as the attendants left the light of the church for the growing night outside.  The service was longer than usual, so he didn’t have time to stick around, but he was determined to show his thanks for, well everything, to talk. 

So here he was, getting there five minutes before morning mass was due to end, cloth napkin draped basket hanging from his free arm while the other gripped at Foggy’s hand with a bit more force than usual.  They stood outside of the main church, trees rustling in a light breeze as stray leaves tumbled down the sidewalk at their feet.  Foggy despite his yawning, was a steady force beside him, though Matt knew he was at least a little apprehensive of the whole thing.  He didn’t know the whole story, not even Matt did.  But Matt was trying to reach out for once, and it was owed to him to stand by his side while he did it.

They were only outside long enough to start growing restless before the large wooden doors were pushed open, the milling mass, no pun intended, leaving the church in search of fulfilling their Sunday needs.  Foggy waits for Matt to move his grip to his arm again, a silent question in the air when he doesn’t.  Shrugging, he leads him up the stairs, the tremor in his hands minor given the circumstances.  Matt stops to speak with Father Lantom just inside the doors, a smile forming on the old man’s face as he takes in the sight of their clasped hands. 

“Finally wore you down, did he Franklin?”

Matt goes scarlet at his side, and Foggy chuckles, shaking his head.

“More of a mutual misunderstanding I think.  I take it he’s been as chatty as ever?”

The priest laughs, hands clasped at his front.

“Not specifics of course, but a few things here and there.  You both look quite happy though.”

After regaining his ability to speak, Matt smiles as well, voice honest.

“I have you and the sisters in part to thank for that happiness.”

He pauses for a moment, fingers of his free hand rubbing at a corner of the cloth that had fallen into reach from the basket.

“Speaking of, is Sister Maggie around?  I wanted to thank her personally for helping to get me back on my feet.”

The twitch in Matt’s facial expression says that this is something the Father had hoped Matt wouldn’t ask, that information probably betrayed by his heart, though by the look on his face, he isn’t exactly surprised.  It’s a silent sort of, _well, you are her son in spirit if anything_ or maybe even a bit of _she knew this was going to happen_.

The priest pays his goodbyes to those leaving as they pass, leading them further back into the church before taking them down a small flight of concealed stone stairs.  It’s quiet down here, muffled steps from the people above scattered above their heads.  Father Lantom leads them past a wall of tombs, the faces and names immaculate from good keeping despite the space being half underground.

“You have a visitor Sister.”

His voice is dry, but there’s an edge of amusement underlying his tone.  It echoes in the space, even to Foggy and Matt winces beside him. 

They stop at the bottom of the steps, and Foggy looks around, taking in Matt’s home for those few months where they couldn’t admit that he was dead, despite the evidence.  Matt breaks away from him, basket still at his arm as he touches the line of statues leading the sort of aisle of the small space. 

“None of this laundry is ever going to get finished with these interruptions Pau-  Oh for heaven’s sake.”

Matt is of course the first thing she sees and seems to be blocking her only exit with the way she looks behind her.  Behind a sort of grated wall, he sees the general laundry implements, a small table and bed that he can imagine Matt’s frail body on all too well.  He flashes her one of his charming smiles, and Foggy’s heart does a silly sort of thing even though it isn’t even directed at him.  She’s dwarfed by his height, but rolls her eyes, hands fisting before they rise to settle on her hips.

“If it makes you feel any better, I brought something to bend your will.”

He hands over the basket, and she eyes it like a snake before taking it with two small hands, one coming up to pull away the top layer of cloth covering the baked goodies.  Her eye flick over his shoulder to Foggy, and he smiles above a small wave that has her shaking her head in what seems to be exhaustion. 

“Fine.  You can help me fold the towels that just came out.”

The heel of her shoes clap on the stone floor as she turns to head back the way she came, motioning over her shoulder for the boys to follow.  Father Lantom makes a wise decision to head back up the stairs, and Foggy braces himself to ender the lioness’s soap scented den. 

Matt is waiting for him on the other side, taking his hand as soon as he’s within earshot. 

“I was rude earlier.  This is Foggy Nelson.  My partner.” 

The title seems silly to him, as lawyers when they meet people in the office, or other law involved functions, it falls into place easily.   Any other setting almost immediately places them in the “ _relationship_ ” level of partners.  He isn’t sure what Matt has told her, but Father Lantom was accepting, and he hopes for Matt’s sake that it won’t be something that shatters whatever they are building between them.  She turns from her place at a small table, leaning back against it as she eyes Foggy with a new sort of interest.

“Is Foggy your real name?”

“It’s uh, Franklin, I grew up with Foggy though.”

He shrugs figuring she probably doesn’t want the life story that goes with it.

“I see.  You got a good head on your shoulders?”

Matt stiffens beside him, but this isn’t the first boyfriend dressing down he’s had so he squeezes his hand before answering. 

“I like to think so, but Matty did have to help me through a few classes in Law school.”

She smiles at him then, and he can see her relax as well.

"We'll at least he has someone with a good head on his shoulders to look out for his poor life choices."

He laughs honestly at Matt’s new look of suffering and shares a smile with Maggie. 

They decline an offering of their own gift, both to be polite, and because they had saved one of the small loaves at home that they had taken out for taste testing.  Maggie plops a Laundry bag beside a small bed that he sits on, and Foggy joins him, handing him one towel after another as they shoulder their way through small talk.  But like Matt, Maggie only has so much patience.  She thanks them, promises to share the gift with her sisters as she folds her hands on her lap, eyeing her son with the same dark eyes Foggy has fallen in love with.

“What do you want to know Matthew.”

“How did you and dad meet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Another done! Thank you all for your continued support.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [ Tumblr](http://a-marvel-fueled-dumpster-fire.tumblr.com)


End file.
